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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865448">Curve it like Christen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozy_downpour/pseuds/cozy_downpour'>cozy_downpour</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Women's Soccer RPF, woso</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Bend it Like Beckham - Freeform, F/F, NWSL, Pali Blues, US Women's Soccer National Team</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 18:34:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26865448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cozy_downpour/pseuds/cozy_downpour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Bend it like Beckham AU you've all been asking for!</p>
<p>Christen, the daughter of a strict couple in LA, is not permitted to play organized soccer, even though she is 18. When Christen is playing for fun one day, her impressive skills are seen by Tobin Heath, who then convinces Christen to play for her semi-pro team, Pali Blues. Christen uses elaborate excuses to hide her matches from her family while also dealing with her romantic feelings for her teammate.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tobin Heath/Christen Press</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Glory, Glory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Don’t be late, your aunt has a guided meditation practice at 4 and we promised we’d be there Christen. No dilly-dallying, you go grab the ingredients for our chili and you come back home.”</p>
<p>“Fine mom. I’ll be quick about it. I promise!” Christen Press shouts as she runs out of the house as fast as she can and down into the streets of LA. She’s scrambling up and down with a pink track bag that holds her wallet, keys, and her torn up cleats she had snagged from a garage sale a few years ago. </p>
<p>Christen sheds her light jacket, pausing on a busy sidewalk to shove it into her bag so that her classic red Manchester United Beckham jersey is on full display. The jersey is a symbol of luck for her, and lord knows she could use it right now. She wears it during pick up games at the park, and whenever she can without her parent’s eyes on her.</p>
<p>The sun is shining in beautiful LA, where the grass is always green, and people are always bustling about. Christen takes the long way towards the shopping center of her area in the city, pausing at the beautiful green park. </p>
<p>“Pressy! Come on, get your ass out here!” A dark-haired friend of Christen’s yells as she passes a soccer ball, sprinting over to where Christen was on the side of the ‘pitch’ as they liked to call it. Just a huge patch of a field with mini pop-up goals in the grass. Some days they liked to bring a can of spray paint to mark a goal and half-point line but after one of the boys got chased off by park security they hadn’t done it in a while. </p>
<p>“Ali, you know I can only stay for some kick around. I have to get back home before 4.” Christen explains as she throws her sack down and heads into the fray. Ali is one of her best friends from high school. She plays soccer with her brother Kyle, and his friends Nima, Will, and Servando which is how Christen got roped into the game in the first place. It was love at first touch she always liked to say.</p>
<p>Ever since then she’d been waking up at all hours of the morning to watch David Beckham play for Manchester United. The way he curves his balls into the goal makes her eyes widen in amazement every time. That’s the kind of skill she wishes she had. And its the kind of skill her parents sigh over every time they catch her even juggling a soccer ball. </p>
<p>“Your mom is such a buzz kill!” Ali whines as she kicks the ball back to Christen who then makes her way towards the pop-up goal. She sighs in agreement, finding it increasingly frustrating that her mom is making her do so much to prepare for her sister Tyler’s wedding. The guided meditation tonight was supposed to be for them to decompress between all of the buying of bouquets, and dresses and god knows what else. She pulls back her leg and sends it spinning into the pocket, making the boys whistle. The net ricochets back with the force of her ball, almost pulling out of the ground they had staked it into. </p>
<p>“Jeez, Pressy. Leave some net for the rest of us.” Servando teases, pulling the ball out of the goal. </p>
<p>“Well, you should defend the net then!” Christen laughs as she pauses to make sure her cleats are laced up properly. While the game picks up again, she has no idea that a pair of bright brown eyes are watching her from across the park. They watch as she snakes between the stronger boys, picking up speed and doing a classic cut back before scoring. They see her take a long drink of water before starting to juggle as they wind down.</p>
<p>Christen loses track of time out there in the sun, an alarm going off on her digital watch.</p>
<p>“Oh shit!” She swears, scrambling to grab her bag. Ali sighs, grabbing the ball Christen had just left. </p>
<p>“Running out of time?” She says knowingly. This always happens with Christen and her love of the game. </p>
<p>“Sadly. See you guys tomorrow if I can make it. Gotta go grab this stuff from the store now. Really sorry.” Christen apologizes even as Nima says she doesn’t have to. She runs in her cleats still on with her jacket pulled over her Beckham jersey and stumbles into someone.</p>
<p>“Ow! Watch where you’re going!” The girl says as she pulls herself back up to her feet. Christen pauses, stepping back. Her cheeks are glowing red and she pushes back a stray curl, looking up to face the girl she bumped into. The girl’s brown hair was cut short, just past her ears with golden highlights in the sunlight. </p>
<p>“Sorry. I’m just in a rush, I-” Christen pauses, looking down at the girl’s bright orange cleats, and her light baby blue shorts with the number 17 emblazoned on them. “You play footy?” She blurts out.</p>
<p>“Yup.” The brunette says, popping the ‘p’. She reaches out her hand, smiling with a pair of bright straightened teeth. “Tobin Heath, I play 17 for the Pali Blues.”</p>
<p>“Pali Blues?” Christen repeats, confused at the name. She scratches her head, trying to think of any clubs she knew with that name. Tobin laughs, pulling her arm around Christen’s shoulders. “I’m Christen by the way.”</p>
<p>“The LA women’s D2 club? You know we’re having tryouts in a few weeks if you wanna come. Could use some fancy feet like yours.” Tobin grins, raising her brows. Christen stepped back, shaking her head. A D2 club? She feels like an idiot for not even knowing that women played competitively like that. </p>
<p>“Feet like mine? Did you see me play, back there?” She asks, gesturing to the group still kicking around. Tobin nods, her eyes widening as she replays the moves in her mind. Christen feels a bit self-conscious now, realizing that someone besides her friends had seen her skills on display. Usually, she’s kicking around for fun, trying tricks she’d seen Beckham do. </p>
<p>“Dude you were like amazing back there. You told those boys what’s up. Have you ever played on a team?” Tobin questions, her hands on her hips as she wonders. Christen shakes her head bashfully. She tugs at her bag and starts to walk. </p>
<p>“No...I’ll think about your offer yeah? What day is it? I gotta head out to the shops now for my mom…” Christen feels embarrassed, having to do grocery shopping while a girl is literally inviting her to a semi-pro football team try out. She is still in shock that anyone would believe she could play that well. </p>
<p>Tobin keeps up the pace, walking with Christen. “So the first try out is on the 10th, and our first game is the 25th. We use the pitch in the west of the city closer to the ocean. Do you have a pager? I could send the deets to ya!”</p>
<p>Christen pauses and reaches into her bag, grabbing her pager. They exchange contacts and Tobin heads back to the park where she does some drills. Christen makes her way to the stores. </p>
<p>The entire time she’s elated that someone would think she had actual football skills, but the other part of her knew she would have to keep this a secret from her parents. It wasn’t that her parents were strictly anti-football but they didn’t believe Christen had time to focus on such silly things while also on an AP path at school, and stepping up to help for Tyler’s wedding. An organized sport was too much effort she could be putting elsewhere.</p>
<p>She returns home with the bag of ingredients from the store just before 4 pm, entering the house to her mom already yelling. </p>
<p>“Christen I swear you’re gonna give her a stroke one day.” Tyler groans, swiping the bag from Christen’s hands as she heads back into the kitchen with it. Stacy, their mother, comes out of the kitchen and shakes her head at the state of Christen.</p>
<p>“What on earth are you wearing? Get dressed for your aunt’s! Now!” She yells, pointing out the obvious dirt on Christen’s shins and the jersey under her jacket. “I told you to go to the shop, that doesn’t mean to play with the Kriegers! I’ll be calling Nima’s parents too. He knows better than to keep letting you play that wretched game.”</p>
<p>Nima was a childhood friend of hers, and their parents were close. This meant of all of them Nima knew the most about how anti-football her parents were. Still, he always encouraged her to sneak out and play even if he would get grounded for inviting Christen out. </p>
<p>She’d forgotten to zip up her jacket and pulls the edges of the material closer so her mom can’t see its a jersey. Christen reaches down and takes off her cleats quickly, trying to make sure her mom doesn’t realize what they are. She mumbles apologies and runs upstairs. </p>
<p>Once inside her bedroom, Christen slides down and sits against the back of her door. Her bedroom is all but a shrine to David Beckham with posters all over the walls and VHS tapes of his games on top of her tv. </p>
<p>“Should I do it?” Christen asks. She’s speaking to herself, but she wouldn’t mind some spiritual guidance from the man himself on her walls. Her heart is screaming at her to keep playing. To go to the tryout. She figures Tobin was just being polite about it all. There’s no way she’ll be signed, right? </p>
<p>Christen tries to imagine how Tobin plays. She’s never seen the girl before, figures she goes to one of the other thousands of schools in the LA area. Figures she would be good at the game. She’s got the muscular legs for it, Christen figures. Subconsciously she tugs down the hem of her pants even further. Her legs would never look like Tobin’s. She can picture the brunette running down the side of the pitch and feeding her a ball, leading up for a huge curling goal. One that would make Beckham’s look like a piece of cake. </p>
<p>She looks down at her pager and sends a message. </p>
<p>CP: What time on the 10th?<br/>TH: 12pm! <br/>CP: I’m coming</p>
<p>Christen figures it would either be a huge embarrassment or a step forward into a new direction for her. She can’t wait to figure out which.</p>
<p>--------</p>
<p>“Well, what about these, pumpkin?” </p>
<p>Tobin turns her head to glance at the ungodly bra that her mother is holding and can’t even hold in a groan.</p>
<p>“Mom! I don’t even have enough boob for that. No way.” Tobin argues, shaking her head. Cindy, her mother, walks closer with it. </p>
<p>“No, no look it has this thing,” She holds up a small device in her hand and clicks it a few times. The cups in the bra grow with each click and Tobin rolls her eyes. “See, it grows. It can fit you while we wait for those mosquito bites to grow.” She tsks, pinching at Tobin’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“No way. I’m not wearing that. They’re not growing, I’m 18 mom!” Tobin grits out, trying to keep her voice down. It’s embarrassing enough that she’s in the bra shop, to begin with, but having her mother scream about her lack of boobs is another. </p>
<p>“Oh Toby, really. It’s a bra shop. There’s no need to be ashamed. I didn’t grow boobs until I was in my 30s pumpkin. I swear. You’ll be okay. I just thought you know, maybe you’d like to be a bit fuller for the boys.” Cindy says. She gently puts the blowup bra back down on the rack and heads to a lacy bralette. “Maybe this instead dear?”</p>
<p>Tobin walks away and into the sports bra section. She pulls down a couple of Nike bras and holds them out for her mom. </p>
<p>“I’m getting these and then we’re leaving this store. Never to come back again.” She says, leading her mom to the cashier. Cindy lets out a sigh, grabbing her wallet. </p>
<p>“I just want my little girl to be a girl for once is that such a bad thing?” </p>
<p>Tobin finally gets her mom to leave the shop with just the sports bras for her, and they head back home. </p>
<p>“So today I met another girl who might be trying out today,” Tobin says absently, playing with the shoelaces on her cleats. Cindy looks over to her briefly while turning the corner in their car. </p>
<p>“Oh did you now? That’s good weren’t you low on returning players because you’re all adults who should be in college…” Cindy says. Tobin sighs, biting her lip.</p>
<p>“Her name is Christen. She’s really good like she could be something mom.” She tries to convince her mom to care for once but it’s not really working. </p>
<p>“Christen is an unusual name. Christen with a ch?” Tobin watches her mom look in the mirror before switching lanes, and smiling sweetly to her. Of course, she would be interested in how a teammate spelled their name. Tobin couldn’t care less. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah, that’s what she put in my pager.” </p>
<p>“Bet her parents are super interesting. You’ll have to introduce us at some practice.”</p>
<p>Tobin throws her head back against the passenger seat, wishing she was already home.</p>
<p>“And Tobin Powell Heath what did I say about taking your dirty, smelly cleats off in the car!”</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Her dad is waiting in the backyard as soon as they arrive home, waving her back.</p>
<p>“Come on Tobes! I got the goal kicker we ordered up.” He says, pointing at the wooden cut out in the goal. The aim of the cut out was for the ball to go through one of the several holes at increasing levels of difficulty. Tobin’s a midfielder, but she wants to brush up on her scoring in case she is moved to winger this season. She knows they’re lacking a few other positions so she could be played in different roles. </p>
<p>“Really, Jeff?” Cindy asks in dismay as Tobin runs upstairs to change into her cleats. Jeff shrugs, </p>
<p>“Oh come on Cindy, she’s got to train. Tryouts are soon and if she doesn’t get a starting spot this season, she might not get a uni scholarship.” Jeff defends himself and Tobin’s need to play right this second. Tobin bolts down the stairs, throwing the ball to her father to play. He sets up a pass for her to score off of and she whips the ball into one of the cutouts. </p>
<p>“There we go! Come on Tobin let’s go again!” Jeff whoops as Tobin collects the ball and they go again. They go at it for hours until they decide to play some 1 v 1 and the ball flies out and into the window. </p>
<p>“That’s it! You two come in right now!” Cindy yells through the open window, thankful that it wasn’t closed and the ball didn’t go through any glass. Tobin collects the ball sheepishly and heads up to her room. </p>
<p>“Look, I know you’re mad but come on. She isn’t going to college yet. She’s got to play, you know that Cindy.” Jeff argues, sitting down and drinking a glass of water.</p>
<p>“Jeff. She is 18 years old and has never been to a school dance. She’s never brought a boy home. And today she bought more sports bras. Where did we go wrong? Was it the soccer? I don’t think she likes boys.” Cindy complains, sinking down at the kitchen table. Her head in her hands as she tries to explain her concerns for their youngest girl. </p>
<p>“Maybe she’ll find a coach to fall for. You never know.” Jeff tries to be positive, but he knows his wife is most likely correct. The question was if Tobin knew she was a lesbian yet. </p>
<p>The week passed by quickly ever since Tobin and Christen first met that fateful day in the park. Christen had been going to practice at the park with her own ball and old cleats every night while her family was in bed. It was risky but worth it. She ran her own drills, trying to test her endurance. Tobin meanwhile was practicing out on the pitch the team usually used. She has access to it through Abby, their coach. Abby loves having Tobin on the team, and if she didn’t have to do tryouts for clarity and equal opportunity for other players, she would have already signed her. It’s just formality to do a tryout but Tobin still treats it like any tryout. She goes hard. And that is exactly why Abby loves her. </p>
<p>The 10th is approaching. It’s a crisp fall day with a light breeze, and no rain (yet). Christen lies to her parents, saying she’s going on a job interview at a local mall. They hate going to the mall anyway, so they’re less likely to go searching for her there. </p>
<p>“Can I get a ride from you?” Christen asks Nima as they sit up in a gazebo across from their houses. Nima raises a brow, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“A ride? Where? When are your parents ever going to realize you need a car?” Nima asks, taking a sip of the coffee he held in his hand. Christen sighs, shrugging. </p>
<p>“When Tyler finally moves out and takes the shitty white car with her. I don’t have enough cash to refill my metro card and it doesn’t even go out there. I have a tryout today. For Pali Blues?” Christen blushes as she reveals it and sees Nima’s eyes widen. </p>
<p>“Isn’t that like a D2 women’s team?” he asks in surprise. Christen rubs the back of her neck, nodding. </p>
<p>“Yeah, I ran into one of their players the other week. She invited me to try out. Guess she thinks I’m worth something. I probably won’t make it but I told my parents I was getting a job at the mall. So can you drive me?” She begs, eyes wide. She has Nima wrapped around her fingers. He’s always been sweet to her like an older brother, and he would do anything for her. Including driving her towards the ocean which was going to be at least an hour away. </p>
<p>“Alright. Let’s go, get you bending like Beckham!” Nima agrees, getting up and jangling his keys while heading to his car.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Pali Blue Blues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christen arrives at Pali Blue try outs, and discovers she’s in for more than she bargained with the team overall.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi everyone! This chapter is a bit shorter. I’m trying to condense chapters into scenes from the film, so some may be longer or shorter than others. I felt like the try outs scene needed it’s own chapter. Onward we go into Pali Blues! Remember if you ever wanna chat my tumblr is cozydownpour :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t belong here </span>
  </em>
  <span>are the first things Christen thinks as she approaches the stadium by the sea. She can taste the salty air on her tongue as she walks through the gates and into the soccer field. It’s a beautiful pitch at first glance. The grass is mowed and just wet enough for Christen to hear a squelch as she steps onto it. The school buildings behind the stadium seats are built with tall glass windows and bright concrete pillars. And at least 20 girls are on the pitch in various uniforms from the club.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen! You made it,” Tobin’s voice breaks Christen from her deep thoughts as she turns to see the player in her full gear already, dribbling a ball between her feet. Her body is gleaming with sweat in the afternoon sun. Christen can see it on her forehead and her thighs. She’s got her long brown hair in a ponytail, wispy baby hairs matted down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I uh thought I’d give it a go at least,” Christen says, her eyes taking in the sight of Tobin. She’s in the full light blue kit with her shorts tucked up into spandex, clearly already overheated in the warm LA sun. Tobin grins at her, chuckling at the slight hesitation. Tobin can see Christen feels a bit overwhelmed at the pitch, so she signals to the bench.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll tell Abby you came! Just sit on the bench and stretch out a bit. She’s running drills with us returners!” Tobin runs back into the flurry of balls and legs kicking high, leaving Christen to meander to the bench on her own. She takes a deep breath, sitting down and pulling her blue jacket a bit tighter around herself. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m never gonna make the team if everyone’s a returner, what the hell was I thinking?” Christen mutters to herself on the bench. A cool breeze sweeps through the pitch, tickling the hairs on the back of Christen’s neck as she waits. Her eyes follow Tobin and she sees her standing with a much taller, broader woman with bleached blonde hair cropped short under a pre-wrap headband. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That must be Abby, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christen thinks as she studies her. She gets distracted by a ball flying in her direction, and ducks just in time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christ! Are you okay? Sorry about that, I’m not the best--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s god awful at striking a target. Hi, I’m Yuki,” Christen looks up at Yuki, who has her hand out for a shake. It takes a moment but Christen grabs her hand, shaking as she takes a deep breath. “That’s,” Yuki jerks over her shoulder to the girl looking sheepish with a blush across her cheeks. “Alyssa. She’s our keeper!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While Christen introduces herself to Yuki and Alyssa, who in turn names off the rest of the squads, across the field Abby and Tobin are talking passionately.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is she serious about this Tobin? You can’t just be picking players up off the streets, we’re trying to win something here. We’re not just some club to play pick up at.” Abby says, grated with Tobin’s pleading for a look at Christen. The brunette’s jaw squares, her nostrils flaring.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, she is. I swear, Abby she’s a great addition. I don’t go to bat for just anyone, who do you think I am?” She argues. Tobin can’t exactly put her tongue on why Christen caught her eye in the park that day but what she does know is that she has to see if others can see the skill too. Her mind plays the curve of Christen’s goal on a repeat. It looked as if it were effortless, like taking a deep breath before jumping into the ocean. No need to think, just do. That’s the kind of player she wants on her team.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“An 18 year old who’s pressing her luck, and wasting time before college.” Abby quips at the midfielder, raising a brow speculatively. Her remark brings up the fact that Tobin’s still hoping for a scholarship offer from UNC. She’s anxiously waiting for a scout to come out and watch them play, knowing that UNC feeds directly into the US Women’s National Team. The very national team that Abby still gets called up to occasionally. She’s doing her coaching licenses in the offseason and coaches this team to keep an eye out for rising talent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just give her a chance. If she’s a disaster then I dunno, bench me for our first game?” Tobin offers as bait, knowing that it would tell Abby she’s serious. If there’s anything you need to know about Tobin Heath its that she simply lives and breathes soccer. For her being benched is a death sentence. It’s an unbearable day of her fiddling with extra balls beneath her feet, and watching her team win or lose without the impact of her.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. She gets a look at today. But if she’s a waste it is on you, Heath!” Abby shouts, heading away to correct a drill.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin jogs to where Christen is mingling with the team, beckoning with her hand. “Come on then, Coach wants ya!” She says, beaming wide at the younger girl. Christen shyly steps away from her new friends, hearing them shout “Go Pressy!” already. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I see the hooligans have already taken a liking to you. Shame that’ll make this harder. Coach Abby Wambach, pleased to meet you.” Abby says while crossing her arms and taking in Christen’s appearance. Her curls are pulled back in a ponytail, the collar of her jersey is poking out between her jacket, and she’s wearing long track pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Glad to be here, Christen Press,” Christen grins, trying to put on a brave face despite knowing her palms are sweating at her sides. Tobin is hovering on Abby’s side, anxiously waiting to see Christen go out on the pitch. She’s kind of like an energizer rabbit, her foot thumping impatiently charging her up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Say Christen, where do you play?” Abby asks, her brow cocked. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christen thinks as she tries to hide her confusion, wondering if it’s about other clubs. She bites her lip, tapping her foot while she stalls for time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh well, I play all over really,” Christen supplies, a nagging feeling brewing in her gut that Abby will cut her right then and there. She’s entirely self-taught, learning off of Beckham VHS tapes she nagged from Blockbuster or taped herself on their VCR. Formal club soccer was never allowed, knowing it would distract her from good grades and family commitments. “At the park, around town, I-”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I mean what position Christen,” Abby remarks with exasperation. She gives Tobin a pointed glance, warning about wasting her time. Tobin makes a small huff, crossing her arms and looks back to Christen. She’s praying the girl starts making sense to Abby. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well uh again kinda everywhere but mostly on the left, up top?” Christen supplies, unsure of her own answer. She’s trying to place Beckham in her mind as a point of reference, and thinking of her pick up games in the park. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, left-winger. Tobin’s our right-wing right now since I think we’ve got some mids. Go grab a ball, get your boots on, and start some drills.” Abby marks down on a scratch pad her name and position. She looks up to see Christen unzip her jacket to reveal the red Manchester United jersey, and the young player’s face falling. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I haven’t got any boots besides these,” she points down to her current pair of cleats that were so worn down Abby didn’t think they had any studs on them. She shakes her head at Christen, tsking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can train in them for today. But next time, I want to see some real boots. Fresh. It’s safety really, it gets slippery out there.” Abby orders, turning around to watch over another set of drills. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin rolls her eyes at Abby’s retreating back. “Y’know she’s not really that gruff. She’s like a teddy bear inside a cactus. Once she warms up to you, it’ll be fine. I can take you boot shopping yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen rubs the back of her neck, hoping her cheeks aren’t showing off her embarrassment.  “I’d like that, thanks, Tobin.” She says while jogging off to find a ball for drills. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Drills quickly moved on to training games as they donned bright blue and green pinnies. Christen starts out wide as a winger, she passes moving significant pieces into place. After a few disappointing minutes where she’s dispossed, she grabs her chance, sticking out her foot to catch a lobbed ball from who she’s learned is Rose. Christen sends the ball behind her towards an open Tobin, who just manages to chip the ball over the keeper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“PRESSY!” The players erupted with praise, dogpiling on top of the wingers to celebrate. Tobin rolls her eyes, hugging Christen as she mutters about it being her goal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on, we don’t have all day! Let’s get a fresh startup!” Abby barks from her position near the goal, watching their other keeper Ashlyn practice. Christen relishes in every touch of the game. She feels the fluidity of the ball coming off her feet with every pass, and she wants to sink herself into the earth beneath the pitch just so she can praise it. Tobin’s across the way from her, and Christen finds her eyes watching the way she dribbles more often than not. She’s got two defenders on either side of her but her eyes are focused on the ball. She slides the ball forward then back, tricking the player into thinking she was about to kick it forward.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Heath if you don’t pass I’m gonna get a squirt bottle out,” Abby threatens, making the younger woman jump and pass the ball forward to their striker, Alex. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For christ’s sake!” Tobin exclaims, watching as Alex tries to whip the ball in but Ashlyn dives and saves it. She crosses her arms, letting out a sigh. “I was gonna let go of it. I swear.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen can’t help but giggle at the exchange as they run back to the middle of the pitch to restart the game. Abby walks back towards them and shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Practice is over. I’ll see all of you next week. Same time. Same place.” She says, shaking her head at the chattering of excited players. “Press,” Abby waves Christen over, rolls her eyes and beckons for Tobin too. “Really great work out there. How’d you feel?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh wow...I felt fantastic.” Christen grins, walking with Abby towards the benches again. Tobin chuckles, slinging her arm around Christen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“See Abby, I told you she’s got game.” She crows, ruffling Christen’s sweat slicked ponytail. The younger girl laughs, feeling herself pressed up against Tobin’s warm jersey clad side. Christen takes a deep breath, inhaling Tobin’s scent. Mostly men’s deodorant, but also something sweet. It makes Christen feel warmer than she already is, bashfully drinking in every ounce of attention from Tobin. She’s quite surprised at how friendly the other girl is. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright, calm down. You know Chris, I don’t see a lot of Black girls in our program, you’d be one of a few.” Abby remarks, watching Christen’s eyes widen. Christen licks her lips, untangling from Tobin’s long arms around her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know you guys existed, honestly. Girl’s clubs just weren’t on my radar.” She shrugs, kicking at some loose clumps of grass. Abby shakes her head, scoffing at Tobin’s shit eating grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all her fault. See...Tobin’s got some youth national team call ups and they partnered her with me for a senior team walk around and she’s been riding my ass ever since. She begged once she moved out here with her parents for me to start up a women’s club and the rest is history.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin pushes at Abby playfully, a lopsided grin on her face. “I wasn’t begging. Look, I can only beat the best boys clubs so many times before they egg my house because they’re fragile that a girl beat them. So excuse me for being tired of boys sabotaging their own teams because they don’t play well with others.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen pauses in her tracks as Abby continues toward the locker rooms. Her cheeks are ruddy, and she shakes her head. “Did they really egg you?” She asks with an air of concern for Tobin who shakes it off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh totally, it really sucks if I have to be honest. Because like I’ve known most of these guys since I was little, we grew up together playing ball and suddenly when I started growing boobs I’m a threat to their precious game.” Tobin complains, scuffing at the line where the grass turned to concrete. Christen feels like she struck a nerve, and backs slowly from the conversation. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can always play with me and the guys in the park. Kyle and Servando aren’t like that, they love having me around. Even if I kick their asses.” She offers, immediately feeling her blush starting. Why would Tobin come play with her if she has a whole team here to play against? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I’ll see about that. I’m trying to play the best I can this year, with UNC scouting me and all.” Tobin comments offhandedly, taking a swig of water. Christen’s brows furrow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>UNC? Like the college</span>
  </em>
  <span> she wonders, trying to wonder why Tobin would want to be scouted by them. North Carolina doesn’t seem too appealing to her. Having grown up in the LA area she can hardly imagine leaving. Much less for a place where the people talk slow, and the summers are hot and sticky. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean like to play college ball? And then what, go pro?” Christen asks as they enter the hallway connecting to the locker room. She’s met with a laugh from Tobin, nodding. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I wanna go pro! UNC is the best women’s soccer program in the world and like everyone on the national team has gone there. I want to make it my career, get drafted and play in the leagues. Hell maybe I could go to England one day.” Tobin chatters away with a brightness in her eyes. Christen feels like she’s intruding on a day dream as Tobin talks so profusely about going pro. The brunette walks towards the heavy locker room door with a tattered “Pali Blue Women’s” sign on it. “You coming in? Meet the girls, change before heading out?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen pulled at her jersey, feeling self conscious about the locker room. She hated this feeling, of wanting to hide herself away because of her body. The scars...she can’t let them see those. Not now anyway.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Um actually I have to get going for dinner and all. Maybe next time, yeah?” Christen mumbles quickly, trying to hide her uneasiness about the whole situation. Tobin frowns for a moment then waves goodbye. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll see you at practice Chris!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen feels warm all over, </span>
  <em>
    <span>practice</span>
  </em>
  <span> she really has practice next week. She turns around, walking out through the hallway to the pitch when Abby pulls her aside. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey kid, listen I got one of our regular practice kits for you. Your parents okay with all of this? I gotta get a sign for a kit with your name and number. You’ll be 23 this year I think.” She thrust the jersey into Christen’s hands with a grin. The jersey itself was exactly like Tobin’s with light powder blue as the main color. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t wait to play,” Christen comments, feeling the crest under her finger tips. She feels the jersey material and breathes out deeply, running her hands all over it. Abby grins, letting her head off and run home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen stuffs the jersey in her backpack, making a mental note to not leave the bag downstairs when she returns home. She takes one last look at the pitch, etching it on the back of her eyes for one last moment before she heads to the bus stop intending on taking it to the metro and then the bus from the metro to home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’d be returning to it as number 23 next time. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Scars of stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christen faces her first practice with the Pali Blues, her mother busts a game at the park, and Tobin suggests a future for Christen in the sport</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Christen nervously tugs at her drawstring bag as she approaches the Pali Blues locker room for her first training day. She can taste the anxiety clawing its way up her chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just a locker room Christen, get yourself together.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s mentally chastising herself for being nervous. It’s not enough to be confident in her own skills— even if they’re a bit unpolished. Christen knows she’ll have to get the approval of the other girls in the team and that’s what’s scaring her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s reliving days of highschool PE and hiding in the locker room bathroom to change. Christen even had to time her bathroom exit or else she'd be caught by judgy girls lingering at their lockers while spraying way too much Victoria’s Secret body spray. If she tried hard enough she thinks she could remember the taste of it on her breath. Chemical peach and cream, enough to make you swear off the actual fruit. Sometimes Christen would look out of the crack in the bathroom stall to see what she’s missing in the locker room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Locker rooms have a distinct culture about them. From the girl who walks around in a thong and bralette asking for an extra dash of deodorant because hers ran out, to the girl taking off her top under her jersey. Christen would watch the different bodies of her classmates, enraptured with watching how they were proud of their bodies. The Victoria’s Secret girls would preen for each other, and Christen’s heart would lunge. She yearned for the ability to be that free and confident. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t that she minded what these girls liked, but the last thing she needed was another comment from one to make her hideaway from the world. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So in her bathroom stall, she sat. And sat. And sat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You gonna go in or just stand there kid?” Abby’s voice spooks Christen out of her head, making her turn to face her. Abby is sporting a tennis visor and a crisp polo with cargo shorts. Dressing the part of the fatherly role she has with the team. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m uh going...it’s getting colder can I not wear track pants?” Christen asks, feeling her cheeks flush in the embarrassment of asking. She had noticed her kit from last week was only shorts and a top. Abby’s eyes narrow and she shakes her head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotta wear the kit, Chris. See you out there, you will be warm in no time. Promise.” She pats Christen’s shoulder before heading into the office at the other end of the hallway for some last-minute managing for scrimmages. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen gulps at the door, then reaches and opens it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pressy! Welcome in!” Yuki shouts, stumbling over some discarded boots as she runs to hug her. One by one teammates say their hellos to Christen as she walks into the small room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re our new winger, right? I’m Heather,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hiya I’m Tierna, I’m defense,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Middle field, Shirley”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Marta,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Becky,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lindsey,” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sofia,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Emily, but everyone calls me Sonny,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rose!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Midge,”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Meghan but you can call me Kling,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen feels bombarded by the voices, trying to turn her head around to face each of them as they speak in the tiny space. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And of course, Tobin Heath star midfielder,” Tobin laughs, sitting next to Christen on the bench. Christen shoved her playfully, shaking her head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m never gonna remember everyone,” She sighs, head in her hands. Tobin laughs, while she unlocks her locker. Christen briefly sees the inside already decorated with photos of her family.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s easier than it looks, I promise.” She swears, holding up her pinky finger. Christen lets out a soft chuckle at the childish gesture but locks her pinky with Tobin’s in agreement. “Your locker will be here, it’s matched with your number.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen nods, going through the motions of unlocking the dusty green metal box number 23. She coughs at the dust when she opens it, then feels someone peering over her shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re lucky, I heard Marta got a dead rat in hers a few seasons ago.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen whips her head around to a pair of bright blue eyes and shoulder length cropped blonde hair. She steps back, spooked a bit at the girl. She racks her brain for a memory of who it could be but then Rose steps in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Knock it off Sonny, you don’t have to traumatize her on her first real day.” The pale and lanky midfielder says, shaking her head as she pulled out a pink prewrap headband. Sonny steps back with her hands up. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Gosh, where are my manners, sorry Pressy. Hazing starts in week two.” She teases, heading back to her own locker. Christen sinks down on the bench, feeling her cheeks warm as she slides the large jersey over her head then pulls out her tee from underneath. The shorts were the worst part though. She spins herself towards her locker, watching the rest of the team slowly filter out before she slides off her track pants. She slips on the shorts, closing her precious track pants in the locker before slamming the locker shut. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-------------------------</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep it going girls. Up and down, this is ball control. I don’t want to see that ball move an inch. Come on. Higher Tobin, lift your knees. Don’t get lazy on me.” Abby’s barking orders at the team as she circles them like a vulture. It’s an older drill meant to slowly build them up. But she knows she has to be strict on it to test their ability to listen to authority. One by one Abby counts her lines until she realizes there’s a player missing. “Where the hell is Press? I saw her on the way to the locker room.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin looks up from the grassy patch of the field where her ball lays, her eyes going to the bleacher seats. A certain winger sat in them, head hung in her hands. “Bleachers.” She mumbles to Abby, jerking her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Abby sighs, taking her clipboard with her all the way across the field to Christen. This was not what she wanted to deal with today. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there a reason you’re sitting out? Press, we just signed you. Come on, get up and out here.” She says, entering the seat section. Christen sinks down, tugging at the hem of her shorts on her tan thigh. She can’t handle this. She can’t handle everyone out there seeing her like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She just wishes she could keep her track pants. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry I’ve let you down coach,” Christen mumbles as Abby sits beside her. Gently Abby lifts the pants of her cargo shorts, revealing a gruesome scar across the kneecap. She can see Christen’s scars along the sides of her thighs and down her kneecaps. The picture is painted so clearly now as to why Christen hid in the stands.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I broke my knee while I was qualifying for the last Olympics. We were playing Brazil and I just got bodied by a defender. I took her knee to my back, and I landed on my own kneecap. I still haven’t fully recovered. Chris,” Abby places her hand on Christen’s knee, feeling the smoothed over scar. “I don’t know how you got those nasty scars but football players don’t care. All of these girls have had dozens of injuries and surgeries. That’s the risk that comes with playing. Don’t hide these away, it’s a part of you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen sniffles, finally raising her head up. Her green eyes look curiously at Abby’s scar which is much more firm and sutured than hers. She pulls her knee back slightly, frowning still. “I look deformed. It’s a stupid story really, I was watching my little sister Channing and she wanted some mac and cheese. I was too little to be using the stove but she wouldn’t stop fussing and we didn’t have anything to reheat. I spilled boiling water all over myself when I went to drain it. Third degree burns all because I wanted some stupid noodles. And for Channing to shut up.” She says with a hint of bitterness. So many days of her life so far had been regretful for that night. The innocence of wanting to do the right thing wore off quickly. Why couldn’t she have made pb &amp; j instead? Christen has a million questions for herself at 8 years old. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A breeze rides through the stadium, igniting a chill down Christen and Abby’s backs. Abby gets up, pulling Christen with her. “I promise Christen. No one will say a thing about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen nods, taking Abby’s word for it. She jogs out onto the pitch, seeing Tobin grin at her inclusion. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Press! Grab a ball, follow my lead!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>---------</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The practice goes swimmingly if Christen had to be honest. After she entered the fray, Abby had her start on some goal drills. She lined up 3 blue person-shaped blocks that meant to be a free-kick wall. It took some time for her to get used to lining up her shot. She’s never been one to think about the angle of a ball or the height of a kick. Tobin was alongside her the entire way. She gave her pointers and demonstrations too. Christen feels like she would sit and watch her play for hours. Each ball was a rocket, cutting the air as it fell into the back of the net. After a few troubled tries Abby shifted her back and tried her other leg, and swung balls into the back of the net. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was freeing. Christen felt like she was getting somewhere with the training and learning every second. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the training let out, she headed back to the park for the rest of the day to fool around with Nima and some of the boys. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, Nima!” Christen shouts as she runs up the grassy park in her uniform still. She ignores the chortling of one of the other guys, probably Servando’s friends, asking if she’s trying out for fantasy football. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa…Chris. You look like a pro in this,” He points to the jersey, grinning with pride. Christen was like a sister to him, and he was always rooting for her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s great, they’re division 2 I think. It’s a top team, for sure. The coach is an olympian Nima!” She crows, smiling proudly. Christen puts her hands on her hips, preening and showing off the logo of Pali Blues. Nima claps his hand on her shoulder, shaking gently. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Pressy is gonna be a world class footballer, ya hear?!” He yells to the swarm of men in various states of dress all around them. Some roll their eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? Is that what she does between her trips to the kitchen?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t even cook judging by that nasty burn,”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen bites back on her tongue at the sexist remarks. She swiftly decides that this is going to be a soccer based show off in order to shut them up. Her leg swings forward, capturing the ball from where it sat under his foot. She dribbles around, starting to get momentum but Servando and his friends are too quick. They start to pull Christen down with them, tackling her by pulling at her jersey. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen Annemarie Press! What have I told you?! And you hey, get off of her!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen freezes as she tumbles out of the men’s arms and onto the grass. Her mother saw her and it can only mean one thing. She’s done for after her very first day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Mrs. Press,” Nima supplies, getting a smack on his hand for being irresponsible. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did my daughter tell you about all of the time she has been trying to waste while we prepare for her sister’s wedding? Nima, your mom and I will be having words. Plenty sure. As for the rest of you, treat a woman with respect.” Christen’s mother says firmly, yanking her arm to pull her along and home. She can see Nima’s  face reddening as she walks away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were supposed to come straight home from work! What have we told you about soccer huh? And you’re supposed to be helping for Tyler’s wedding!” Stacy Press says as she paces back and forth in front of their fireplace. The mantel currently has engagement photos of Tyler and her fiancé, Anthony, on it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen sinks back into the couch as her mother crossly explains why she’s upset with her. She hadn’t expected her to show up at the park. Christen bites her tongue, trying not to be frustrated with Tyler’s wedding. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s growing harder as she watches her parents give everything for their first born lawyer. She tries not to roll her eyes. They’re not skipping a single expense from the music to the flowers. It’s making Christen’s head spin with the amount invested in it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you left your scar bare, uncovered for everyone to see. Christen, we’ve talked about this.” Her mother continues, taking a seat on the chair across from her. Christen pulls down the hem of her shorts, her lower lip wavering. She didn’t need to be reminded of the scar, and how much her family hated it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“With Tyler getting married into a political family. People will talk. It’s just not what we want at the forefront of inquiring minds Mo.” Her father pipes in as he pours himself some whiskey. “Things are different now. What about your future?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen glances over to her father, watching him study the newspaper with whiskey in his other hand. His cropped salt and pepper hair is peeking out from behind the local listings section. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was engaged at your age! And here you are playing with boys and not even interested in them romantically.” Her mother groans, shaking her head. Christen crosses her arms over her chest in the flower clothed couch, looking down at the floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s different.” She says firmly. “I’m not just playing with boys.” Christen gulps, her guts turning over in her stomach as she realizes what she’s just done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her mother turns her head, brows raised over identical seafoam eyes. Christen sits up further, feeling a sense of rebellion trickling down her spine. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m playing with an all girls club.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All hell breaks loose in the Press household. Stacy leaps out of her seat, returning to pacing. She shouts about needing to quit. Her father, Cody, sighs while setting his paper down. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mo, you aren’t cut out for soccer. It was fun as a kid, we let you play when you could. But it’s time to be an adult. You can’t make money off of being a soccer player. Listen to your mom.” He urges, shaking his head. Christen’s got tears threatening to spill over now, up on her feet. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re going to tell that club you can’t make it. You have rehearsal for the wedding and you’ll be making appetizers for when we have Anthony’s family over.” Stacy continues, pointing her fingers towards the kitchen. “And after the wedding is over you and I will be sitting down with college applications.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen bites her tongue, wanting to scream about what Tobin told her. How players get scouted and can play on scholarship. She knows her mother wouldn’t care. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“But of all the players they tried out, they picked me. She- Abby our coach picked me.” She says, hoping to sway with her talents. Stacy takes a deep breath, holding her daughter’s shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby seems lovely, Christen. But, you know we’ve made ourselves firm on this. No more soccer. Now go change into pants, we’re going to meet with the venue owners and you need to help me keep track of our seating arrangements.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen grumbles, “Fine,” while she walks back to the front door for her drawstring bag. “Why doesn’t Channing have to come?” She asks. Channing pokes her head out from the bannister. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m arranging a flute solo for the band, but also because I’m not the idiot who was caught playing a sport you know we’re not allowed to.” She says with a smirk on her 16 year old face. Christen scowls at Channing’s smart ass comment as she walks up the stairs to her bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>————</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen walks alone in the park on Sunday morning, feeling sorry for herself. She’s dabbing at her bloodshot eyes, trying to hold the tears in as she spots the boys playing a pick up game. Nima looks over with a face of concern. He decides to head over. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris? What’s the matter?” He asks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading them to a bench. They hunker down, Christen’s lower lip pouting. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mom wants me to quit. She says I won’t have time anyway because of the wedding. And my scar could have a bad impact on the family.” She scoffs at the ridiculousness, leaning into Nima’s shoulder. He rubs her back through her jean jacket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No Chris. You can’t quit. I’ve seen you out here, and you’re electric when you play. This is a great club team, you said the coach picked you herself.” He says while pulling out a few crumpled tissues from his own track jacket for Christen as she cries. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know! But I can’t keep doing this...they’re already so mad at me. And she even told your mom, and I know you have to go to the temple now because of that.” She adds between hiccuping cries. Nima shakes his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah...I mean my mom did lay me a new one for not going to temple but I’m an adult Chris. She can’t take soccer away from me. And your mother shouldn’t either.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen lets out a deep sigh, knowing on the surface Nima is correct but knowing deeper that her family obligations are more important than they seem. Her mother’s concerned because she watched lives around her fade out in the night. Christen knows how much of a privilege it is to have two Dartmouth educated parents. Nima brushes off family obligations but Christen’s family treats togetherness as a sacred time that could be taken away at any moment: </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris?! Hey I thought I’d see you out here, what’s going on?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen turns to see Tobin and feels like she might pass out. She feels suddenly exposed in a snot rag used jean jacket and a face that’s blotchy from all the crying. A definite stark contrast to Tobin’s black Nike shorts paired with a white tank and black sports bra running underneath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mom wants me to quit the team. I’m so sorry Tobin—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My mom has never wanted me to play, seriously.” Tobin says, juggling a soccer ball between her knees. “Thinks she can stuff me in pretty pink dresses eventually, it’s kinda sad,” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Chris sniffles, feeling the corners of her lips widen at Tobin’s comment. She can’t picture the lanky player in a dress at all. Tobin’s got the legs for it though, Christen finds herself thinking, but knows she’d feel stiff. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not just about all of that. My sister is getting married soon and I have to constantly be preparing for it!” Christen says quickly, feeling bad that she’s letting Tobin and the team down. Tobin starts frowning, shaking her head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s ridiculous, Chris you just can’t take no for an answer. Listen, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll send in a good word for you at my tiny shop. It’s retail, no worries. You can tell your mom you have shifts there then come for practice, and later games. No one has to know. And you know what,” Tobin grasps her arm, pulling her close. Christen’s startled by the sudden touch, eye to eye with the spunky player. She can see the fire in Tobin’s eyes as she devises this plan. “Maybe you’ll be scouted, just like me. You’ve got skill Christen. You’ll come with me to UNC and screw your parents. Get drafted into the league.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen looks back to Nima, watching him slowly nod. He knows Christen’s skills, having watched her since they were just children kicking around a ball. He knows her dedication too. Something Tobin has just gotten a taste of. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Alright.” Christen says as she wipes the last of her snotty tears. Her leg swipes out and takes possession of Tobin’s ball. “I’ll do it, now let’s get kicking,” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” Tobin shouts, clapping Christen on the back before darting forward. Nima runs alongside her, whooping and grinning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christen feels the ball at her feet as she continues down the field, dribbling and setting up a low angle shot from distance at a man made goal in the space between trees and bushes. Nima rushes up her side, trying for a tackle but he’s two steps behind her as she pivots to the opposite side and uses her left leg to shoot instead of her right. Just like Abby tried with her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She shoots it in, and Tobin comes running. She tackles Christen to the ground, laughing and celebrating. “Chris, that was a beauty!? And with the left? Man I’ve been trying to get my left leg up to par. Coach thinks it’s weird I’m right footed, left handed. Gotta keep the rivals on their toes though.” She says while pulling back and laying in the warm grass. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really mean that? About being scouted? You think I have a chance of getting out of here?” Christen asks, laying back with Tobin and staring out at the clouds. Tobin eagerly nods, squinting and outlining a cloud shape with her index finger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t say that to just anyone. Ask Abby. It’s going to be hard since you’ve never played club or youth national team but I’m gonna make sure they see you. Besides I just know they’re tired of seeing me year after year. Just hope I get offered something this time.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She explains slowly, and Christen turns her focus to the shifting clouds. Asking about the different scouts that have seen her. The games she’d played in. By the end of it all Christen has learned Tobin played goalie for a while because the boys opposite her team were upset she kept winning so many games.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you ever thought about playing in England? Can we even do that there? Is it bad if I say that I don’t really know much about competitive soccer?” Christen says quietly, studying a blade of grass instead of meeting Tobin’s face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The brunette shakes her head, rolling in the grass closer to Christen. “Okay well for one you watch Beckham, I know that. So you do know about him and the premier league. And two, there’s a women’s league in England yeah. The super league, I’ve heard some of our national team players went there once or twice for a season.” She says while Christen picks the blade of grass and watches a ladybug fly onto it. “You do know the national team right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen rolls her eyes, “I said didn’t know much not that I was stupid. I went to the ‘99 World Cup final, it was here. I was like nine and my dad had saved up and got us tickets and matching jerseys. He used to watch soccer with me and honestly after that day, I don’t know what happened but then my family got anti soccer.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She furrows her brows, trying to remember the day it all went wrong. She remembers her father being very flustered after she came out of the bathroom at the stadium, and pulling her along quickly. After that day he stopped watching games with her, always going to do yard work in the mornings when Premier league games played. He would tell her to go study and get cross if she were watching games. His jersey never came out again and hers was relegated to a halloween costume for years.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris you know we should get back before your mom comes out again,” Nima says, holding the ball under his arm as he walks over. Christen looks sheepishly at Tobin, knowing Nima’s right. She has to get home. Tobin looks between the two of them, a brow raised. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sadly, your fella is probably right.” She says, brushing grass and dirt off her knees as she stands up and grabs her drawstring bag. Nima coughs, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not her-- no I don’t like Chris like that, never,” He recoils, grimacing at the thought while Christen’s face blossoms red. She bites her lip, her hands rushing out tell her no.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nima and me? No he’s not my fella. Ew, gross. I’ve known him since we were kids. That’s not, no I would never.” Christen feels queasy as she even considers the thought of kissing Nima. Tobin chuckles, shrugging.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry dude. Just kinda thought maybe you were something. Always hanging ‘round.” Tobin says holding out a shaka as she leaves towards the other side of town. “See you at practice Chris!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tumblr as always cozydownpour, ask me stuff!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. I believe that we</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christen has one job. To get shoes for her wedding outfit, but finds out that going cleat shopping is much more fun.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The days begin to fade away into the long-lasting Los Angeles summer sun. Christen spends her days on repeat, leaving the house in a blue polo and tan slacks only to change in Nima’s yard behind a shrub where she stashed her soccer drawstring bag. She runs in the park for a mile or two if she’s feeling adventurous, with Tobin at her side most days. On weekends they have games. And Christen feels herself getting into a rhythm with the Pali Blue girls. She nets quite a few goals in their first three games, scoring off of crosses from Tobin mostly. The brunette has been playing alongside Christen like a ghost. Always catching the ball when she’s tackled or dispossessed. She swoops in, fighting ankles for her ball back. The team is thriving and Christen can find herself falling in love with the game each day.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen? You’re home early! I sent Tyler out to get you from work today because we’re doing catering tasting.” Stacy says from her spot on the couch in the living room. Christen pauses in the doorway, putting her soccer bag on the floor behind one of their potted plants. Thank god she had managed to change before leaving practice. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? I missed her. My shift ended early, the store was dead and another girl came in early. So I just caught the train.” She lies, sitting down on the couch. Christen’s cheeks grow hot at the idea of her sister showing up at the shop only to be told there’s no employee named Christen here. Stacy sighs, setting down her bridal magazine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I better ring her to be sure she isn’t waiting—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry mom, she was already gone on the metro when I got there. Little shifts, huh Christen?” Tyler says, walking into the living room. She puts her purse down on the green lounge chair and throws a glare at her sister. Tyler knew why Christen wasn’t at the shop. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to heat up some tea for the caterer. Tyler, make sure you bring the list of meal options so we can write off what we hate.” Stacy says, pulling herself up and busying herself in the kitchen. Tyler instantly pulls Christen closer, her brows wiggling mischievously over green eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t even work there, you are so lucky that mom hates that shopping center so she wouldn’t come herself. Who are you lying about? Is it a boy? Do you have a boyfriend?” Tyler probes knowing she only has a few minutes until the tea has been made. She can smell the rooibos. Christen shakes her head incredulously, scrunching up her nose at the thought of a boy. The number of times she had walked in on Tyler and her betrothed making out was vomit-inducing, to say the least. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? A </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Do you think I could land a boyfriend? Tyler. I’m playing soccer still, and we’re winning the league right now. But I need your help.” She says quietly, so no one can eavesdrop. Tyler pinches the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath at her younger sister. The last thing she really wants to handle during her wedding is Christen’s shenanigans but she can see the passion in her sister’s eyes and knows there is no hope in stopping her now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. What do you need? But you owe me, Christen!” Tyler warns, eyes watching the kitchen for their mother. The last thing either of them needed was for Stacy to interrupt. That woman was like a poodle, too smart for her own good and poking around in everything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen rolls her eyes, knowing that she will forever ‘owe’ Tyler for doing big sister things. She leans in closely, taking a breath. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re going to San Diego for a travel game against some of the best teams in the area. It’s like a big thing for the league. But I need you to pretend I’m with you at Aunt Lillian’s. She’s like doing a cleanse from technology right now so mom can </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> call her.” Christen explains as she tightens the lace on her beat-up tennis shoes. She sees Tyler ready to roll her eyes, pouting at the idea of it all. And honestly, she can’t blame Tyler for it. It’s a stupid idea at the core of it. So many things can go wrong, and Christen is far too aware of that although her goals push her forward. This game is worth it. There could even be some college scouts according to Tobin. And what was Christen to do? Say no to those shining brown eyes glazed over in delight that they’re finally playing some heavy competition? She didn’t think so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mo, I will do this but I am letting you know now that I loathe you. Involving Lillian in this. She is a kind old lady who loves spirituality!” Tyler says sparsely. “And soccer is stupid. Lie about something juicy next time. And for what it’s worth you could land a man if you tried harder, fix yourself up a little!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The pair are startled by their mother coming over with a cup of tea for both of them. “Tyler, you leave Chris alone. I didn’t wear makeup until I was out of college. She’s a fine young woman.” Stacy adds in as the doorbell rings and the caterer comes in. The seamstress is in tow, babbling about how she needs to check sizing closer to the wedding to make sure everything fits. Christen swallows her groan. Tonight is going to be very long.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The seamstress tsks as she wraps the baby blue measuring tape around Christen’s bust. She keeps pulling tighter until Christen has to bite out if it can be looser.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You want to wear a sack?” Stacy remarks with her arms crossed over her chest at her daughter. Christen rolls her eyes, shaking her head at the whole thing. She dreads this more than anything. The comments about her figure. Her muscles. Her lack of a chest. Her heaviness on her lower half. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t fill it out anyway!” The tan-skinned woman replies to her mother with a deep sigh. The seamstress raises her hands up, looking between the two. It seems she’s had quite a few mother-daughter clashes in her years. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry. In my dresses, I can make these mosquito bites very juicy mangos.” She assures them with a wink, loosening up Christen’s bust but returning to her waist. The measuring tape snaps as she finishes that portion and then begins to measure for her legs. Christen closes her eyes as she listens to her mother ensure that the dress will be floor length for each bridesmaid because of the horrible knee scar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They continue with this secondary fitting all the way up until Channing is finally measured for her dresses. Stacy asks for one last swatch of fabric to match the color of the dresses with some of the table settings before the seamstress leaves.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom?” Christen asks nervously, approaching her mom in the kitchen cleaning the dishes left by the caterer. Stacy turns around, drying a mug with a brow raised. The mug makes Christen smile for a brief moment. It’s from a buy and paint set she got as a child, still surprised it lasted this long. The side is all full of her childhood drawing. Tiger stripes and princess crowns. It’s honestly ugly but Stacy argues that it brings the mug cabinet light and happiness. Christen usually quips that it doesn’t bring happiness and that the mug cabinet already had bright, colorful, artist’s pieces in it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” She replies and suddenly Christen is all too aware of what she’s about to do but she does it anyway. She reaches over to help her mother with drying the dishes, maybe it will make up for lying to her. If there is one thing Christen knows how to do, it’s too suck up to and take care of her mother. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So I need shoes to go with my dresses for the wedding. I can pay for one from my wages but I’ll need some money for the second one.” Christen explains, not meeting her mother’s eyes. She feels guilty-- well she knows she is guilty. She wants to use the money to buy herself real cleats. As they move upward in the soccer leagues, she’s becoming more self-conscious of how ratty and old hers are. They were good for kicking around at the park but they’re starting to peel. Every day she enters the locker room, Christen begins concerted about how nice other’s cleats look. Especially Tobin’s. I mean she </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One white, one black. They’ll go with everything for the future. It’s good to invest Mo.” Stacy smiles, rubbing her middle child’s cheek before grabbing her purse. She hands her 45 dollars and nods. Christen slips it into her pocket with a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Chris! Over here!” Christen sees Tobin waving her hands up and down outside of the local metro station. She dashes over to greet her with a giant hug, pressing herself into Tobin’s warm body. The brunette was unusually chipper for it being 9 am, and Christen having had learned that she dreads mornings from some of their earlier practices. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got your pass loaded already?” Christen asks, whipping out her metro card and heading to the machine to punch in around 10 dollars to cover the trip today and a few of her practices. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shoot!” Tobin smacks her hand against her head with a groan. She’s empty-handed which tells Christen one thing. The poor girl forgot her MetroCard. It’s not like it’s that surprising knowing that Tobin is usually driven to practice. She lives a little closer to the field anyway, compared to Christen’s train and a bus ride. She didn’t use it all the time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen. I’ve jumped these hundreds of times. Use my card to scan in. Don’t worry, it works.” Christen assures the brunette who had already started panicking. She’s mumbling and muttering about how she’s only carrying exact cash today and would rather it be spent on the cleats she’s looking for instead of a train ticket. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin’s brown eyes grow wide and she slings her arm around Christen. “You’d do that for me? Really Chris?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen feels her heart beating and buzzing inside of her chest at the question. She flushes and nods. It was actually a lie, she hadn’t jumped it hundreds of times. Just when Tyler was a pain in the ass and stole her card, which made her have to jump it. But Tobin didn’t have to know that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen ends up going first with her card swiping in. She darts through the gear looking gates and slides the card into Tobin’s hand on her way through. Tobin waits for a few minutes before swiping it again and walks through. Other people push past them on the platform as the train arrives.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on! We need to get a seat, I’m not standing the whole ride!” Christen shouts to Tobin, grabbing her warm hand and leading her into the cart. They end up squeezing past a man who shouts at them to stop being hooligans, causing the pair the chuckle. The ride there is a little bumpy but not too bad. They talk most of the time. Tobin explains how she has a favorite cleat shop and knows the owner. He got her a few deals when she ruined a pair playing in the mud as a kid. It’s beautiful outside the train. The sun is beaming down over Los Angeles like a warm hug and the sky is entirely free of clouds. These are the days that Christen loves. They welcome her home like an old friend. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Once they get off the train, Tobin runs inside the mall and up to the cleat shop as fast as she can. It’s in the back of the mall up on the second floor, crammed between Macy’s and the food court. Christen follows along, seeing Tobin dart through people on a fast walking paced mission. She narrowly avoids taking out a child with an ice cream cone. And then they’re in Mr. Cleats which felt like a wonderland. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen pauses in the doorway, mouth slightly open at the spectacle before her. There’s a giant practice net set up with a few different sizes of balls. Toddlers were taking their turns trying to score with size 3 balls right now. There are rows of cleats in all different sizes lining the walls. Posterboard cut-outs of Beckham and other soccer stars across the way, where boys were lining up to take photos of with a polaroid. And behind them are--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The national team! Christen look!” Tobin shouts, pulling at Christen’s arm as she stares in awe at the poster cut-outs. Slowly Christen starts taking steps to the posters. She swallows heavily. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, everything fit into place. There’s Brandi Chastain in just her sports bra, jersey clenched in her hands in celebration. Mia Hamm with her hands on her waist, chest proudly beaming with the USA crest on the white number 9 jersey. Brianna Scurry with her gloves raised high. And Christen knows what her dreams are now. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Her life had been watching Beckham and aspiring to be like him, but feeling defeated and willing to accept that for a normal life. She would eventually give in to her family’s wants of a perfect housewife and a more traditional job. But now Christen sees herself in a new light. She looks over to see Tobin holding the polaroid with her eyes big and begging for Christen to take her photo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh-- uh yeah of course I--”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No silly, come be in it with me! Mr. Cleat is gonna take this,” Tobin grins wide, showing that perfectly white smile while her eyes crinkle in the corners. Christen turns pink, realizing that Tobin wants her to be a part of the photo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Call me Luke, really.” The shopkeeper chuckles, nudging Christen to join her teammate with the cutouts. Christen sheepishly walks her way over. Tobin reaches over to bring Christen closer to her side, with her hand on her waist. And Christen swears she just might faint. Maybe it’s the bright lights and the polaroid. That has to be it...right? She leans onto Tobin, smiling at the camera as he snaps a picture. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks, Chris. I wanted a snap of us with the champions before we win our own one day.” Tobin says offhandedly, shaking the paper before shoving it in her pocket. Christen pauses while walking to the cleats. She faces the brunette with knitted eyebrows. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Before we win our own?” She asks, her voice wavering. Tobin comes closer, nodding. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. We’re gonna get called up. I believe we will while we’re at UNC together, and then we’ll beat the asses off of everyone. And you are gonna score a banger of a header against England. That’s how we win.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen doesn’t have time to address how that statement makes her insides feel all warm and fuzzy before a boy kicks his ball into Tobin, saying something about girls not being able to play real ball as he does. She watches Tobin turn steely-eyed and her jaw setting into a fierce scowl. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Say it to my face jerk off.” Tobin grits out. Her nostrils are flared and her cheeks are flushed with anger. Christen tugs on her jacket, warning her not to instigate anything. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tobs, let’s get out of here. Or go look at cleats. He’s not worth it.” Christen urges her teammate to let it go. Tobin flashes her a look of annoyance, biting at her chapped lower lip before agreeing to follow her into the cleat area. They sit down side by side on one of those plastic benches with metal legs and stare at the wall in front of them. Tobin reaches out and starts pulling cleat boxes towards her. They spend another hour just trying on cleats before leaving the store with them. Tobin then suggests a local sports bar for lunch which Christen can’t really deny with her stomach growling. They share a basket of fries and opt for a salad and grilled chicken sandwiches. Something that was semi-healthy if they squinted. All things go well and they’re back on the train home before sundown. Christen also happened to snag a pair of black flats from a shoe shop for her wedding outfits. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She rushes back home with the bag of her cleats hidden under her shoes, planning to make sure her mom didn’t see them. Slowly Christen opens the door of her house, closing it behind her and immediately she ends up closing her eyes at the shouting that endures as soon as she comes in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen Annemarie, you have been gone all day for two pairs of shoes. Come here.” Stacy shouts, beckoning her to the couch of the living room. Cody is reading a newspaper beside her. He lowers it at the actions of his wife, glancing over at his daughter. Channing runs into the room, grabbing at Christen’s bag. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All day for shoes? Lemme see!” The youngest Press shouts as she rattles the bag, trying to find something that would get Christen in trouble. She’s more curious than anything but is tired of not getting attention due to Tyler’s wedding.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen, come on. I just don’t want you hiding things from us, the malls are so filled with kids doing God knows what.” Stacy repeats as Christen struggles with the bag that Channing takes. She comes closer and Stacy curls her nose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that cigarette smoke?” She asks to which Christen shouts that it’s not. Her father sniffs, shaking his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen. You know how we feel about that.” He says firmly. Christen feels her heart sinking as tries to explain to them.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not cigarettes. I went to the pub with my friend and there were others smoking. Smell my breath. I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>While her father leans in to take another sniff, tissue paper from the plastic bag starts swishing around. Stacy was digging into the bags, and would no doubt find…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Soccer shoes? For god’s sake Christen!”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>blog is cozydownpour on tumblr feel free to ask me about anything!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Cold Feet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christen gets cold feet when asking a key question and other shenanigans</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, i am terribly sorry for the long delay on this. I have nothing to blame except my mental health and work. as always my tumblr is cozydownpour</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“What do you mean she took them from you?” Tobin asks as they bend forward, following in the line of crunches that Abby had directed for them to do that training session. Christen wipes back the sweat on her brow with a sigh of sadness. She pulls forward and upon the output of breath she replies, </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s all about that stupid wedding now. I have to return them and get proper heels for it.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin gives Christen a look of concern, her brown eyes full of worry. “No, no you can’t return those mercurials. Listen. Take the bag and come to my place, I can grab you a pair of heels.” There was no way in hell the player was going to let her friend give back the pair of cleats they had both been daydreaming about while at the mall. Tobin had finally convinced her they were worth the investment. Christen agrees with a head nod as she sees Abby come up to the both of them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Less chitchat, more crunching. You guys need to wake up! Focus Press!” She commands authority over the group, shaking her head as she hunches down to get into their faces. Christen rises up, eyes on the bleached blonde.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is there a problem coach?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Taking too many breaths talking about your boots, not enough focus on your breathing. I should hear the pattern.” Abby barks, going in a little deeper to Christen than she has before. The other players turn their heads slightly to hear the conversation but ultimately stay silent. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Abby, lighten up. Chris and I were just talking we’re still doing the training!” Tobin speaks up as she pulls herself forward for another crunch. Abby turns in her direction, shaking her head. That was of course the wrong thing to say. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Heath. I’m coach Wambach to you don’t get it twisted. And both of you now have to run 5 extra laps. Go!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Abby wasn’t playing nice anymore, and certainly not going along with Tobin’s casual behavior in training sessions. They have a huge tournament in San Diego coming up soon. This isn’t the time to slack off, and Tobin should know that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Christen and Tobin both stumble to their feet with a groan before taking off to the corner of the pitch. Christen can feel her muscles aching and screaming at her with each step of her foot on the grass. Tobin is behind her at a slight jog, trying to keep her energy while she watches Christen try to go all out all at once. They make at least 3 laps around before either of them feels even slightly winded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you trying to tweak your ankle?” Tobin asks, turning the corner alongside her for a few moments. Christen shakes her head while pulling at her long, curly ponytail.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Am I too fast for you Heath?” She teases, watching the way Tobin’s eyes grow wide and her breathing becomes a little more erratic. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Before Christen could really chuckle at Tobin as she sprinted forward, a shooting pain stopped her in the middle of the pitch. She had to drop down to the ground to hold her ankle. Tobin hurries her way to Christen, dropping down beside her. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Shit Chris, when I said tweak your ankle I didn’t mean literally!” Tobin gasps, reaching out for Christen’s bum ankle. The younger player hesitantly lets her grab the cleat, twisting it off. Christen winces at the pain, feeling Tobin’s slender fingers slide over her foot and ankle. “Okay it’s just a strain, can you wiggle your toes?”  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen grimaces but her toes do wiggle for Tobin. It feels strange having the other woman’s hands on her. There’s heat blooming up her legs and she can’t tell if it’s from the injury or the close contact. Tobin smells like sunscreen and men’s deodorant, glistening sweat beads dripping down her forehead as the sun beats down on them. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I should have told Coach I couldn’t run,” Christen groans, shaking her head. Tobin hums in acknowledgment, agreeing with her. She takes off her training top, fastening it into a makeshift splint for Christen. Ties it under her foot and around her knee. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You wanted to prove yourself to her because she was being an ass. It happens to the best of us. Chris, she was testing you.” Tobin explains as she helps the less experienced player to her feet —foot in this case as the other hangs limply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Testing me?” Christen is incredulous, her brows furrowing. “Why on earth would she test me? Am I not strong enough for her? Fast enough? Is that what this is? A runt of the litter to her—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin wraps her arm around Christen’s middle to hold her weight as they head back towards the locker room. She shakes her head. “It’s not about you Chris,” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s not about me?” The black woman looks at Tobin pointedly, green eyes steely. “Pretty sure Abby went full cadet kelly on my ass.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin burst into chuckles, walking Christen towards the locker room. She leans against Tobin, feeling her weight shift to help her up. Christen thinks this might be the comfiest pair of crutches she’s ever had. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What I mean is that I’ve been in your shoes. Abby likes to test players’ patience. Like my first year with her as coach she always singled me out for extra push-ups, and my worst drills. After I proved I could handle her being a dick she chilled out. It’s so you don’t lose a grip when playing.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen settles with that thought as she gets back into the locker room, briefly chatting with Yuki about her favorite types of recovery practices before getting ready to leave with Tobin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They take the bus to Tobin’s house, talking the entire way about English football. Christen admits to liking Beckham more than her family thinks she should while Tobin laughs. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span> what Christen would do to see the way her face lights up and her brown eyes dazzle as she thinks about her own bedroom walls every day of her life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So this is our stop,” Tobin announces, standing up and grabbing the side of the chair in front of her for dear life. There’s no hesitating or waiting on a bus. Get up and hold on for your life, hop-off and pray you’re not moving still. Christen gets up swiftly, too used to the sway of the metro bus. They head down into the neighborhood, walking up past pristine green lawns and some literal white picket fences. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You really don’t have to do this,” Christen says bashfully as they get inside. The house is two stories with a lofted attic and a decent-sized kitchen. They leave their shoes in the laundry room before coming into the carpeted living room. Jeff jr is laying on the wide couch and lounge with a Gameboy in his hands, oblivious to the two girls coming in. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah, no way! C’mon Chris, I was the one who took us to get cleats, it’s my fault you got under your mom’s skin.” Tobin waves off her insecurities, showing the younger player up and to her bedroom. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And oh you could </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>tell it was Tobin’s room. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on a sec, yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Tobin,” Christen tries not to laugh at her friend’s frazzled energy and how her cheeks are the pinkest she’s ever seen. Tobin ducks into her parent’s bedroom, seeking out an old pair of kitten heels her mother had hidden in the depths of her closet. While Christen...contemplated wall art. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Where she had posters of Beckham and Manchester United plastered along her walls, Tobin on the other hand had the United States Women’s National Team. Mia Hamm leads most posters. There’s one of the entire team with their medals. It’s earnest in a way that Christen hadn’t seen from the other soccer player before. On the surface, it was hard to picture Tobin as a total fan in a way. But underneath, she’s really about team culture and passion in a way that makes you feel a fire in your soul. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There are a couple of black-bound booklets that look almost like diplomas next to her desk that hadn’t been cleaned in what Christen is sure is years. Informational booklets from colleges. A giant Bible. In the corner of her room there looks like painted on canvases, hidden away for no one to see. Mia Hamm stares at her in this bedroom, this slice of heaven for Tobin and suddenly Christen can feel herself like an intruder. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Here. Just make sure you bring them back after the wedding yeah? My mom will kill me and if not her, Perry who would have stolen them next.” Tobin teases as she puts the shoes in Christen’s bag. Christen’s brow furrows until she remembers that Tobin has two sisters. She hardly sees them with their lives being in other cities, but Perry visits home often enough that she tries to make it to Tobin’s soccer games. The thought makes Christen’s heart warm as she thinks about Tyler and Channing’s dismissal of her playing soccer. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh! I’m so sorry pumpkin, I didn’t realize you had company.” In walks Tobin’s mother...the spitting image of her. Cindy smiles with identical eye crinkles as her daughter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“ ‘Sup Mom, this is Christen.” Tobin introduces her quickly from where she sat on the bed, letting Christen lean on her. Cindy walks further into the room, brows raised at the two young adults. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Christen...what a pretty name. Is it from your family?” Cindy asks gently only to hear a resounding groan from Tobin while gentle brown eyes stared at Christen.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom, can you leave us alone?” Tobin whines in a typical teenage fashion. She can not handle another minute of her mom possibly embarrassing her in front of Christen. Christen who’s her best soccer buddy. Christen that makes her stomach roll around in knots because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the younger player is going to be someone great. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cindy shakes her head, taking a deep breath. “Toby, sweetheart we’ve talked about this. Don’t be rude with company over. Christen is a very pretty young lady who you could take cues from!” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen’s cheeks grow red and she shakes her head, eyes going to a poster on the wall. “Um Mrs. Heath, really everything is fine. Tobin is such a gracious host,” she adlibs, used to people pleasing thanks to her own parents. On one hand Christen thinks that maybe Tobin’s mom and her own mom might be friends one day. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“God! </span>
  <b>
    <em>MOM</em>
  </b>
  <span>, Christen is on the soccer team with me. She’s freaking good too. I’ve told you this!” Tobin tries to change the subject, knowing her mom won’t budge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, the soccer team? Well, what is a beautiful girl like you doing playing with all those Butch looking women?” Cindy says far too comfortably and it sends the wrong feeling down Tobin’s throat. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“My god shut up mom! Just leave us be!” Tobin snaps. Cindy steps back and raises her hands, fretting about with dirty jackets on chairs, and water bottles on desks. She walks to the door, turning to face them one last time. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m putting the kettle on in case you want tea!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my god sorry about all of that,” Tobin laughs as she stands at the bus stop with Christen, making sure she got home safely. “She’s just a bit intense. I love her but…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen shakes her head, taking it all in good-natured spirits. “Well no yeah, she’s your mom Tobin! It was fine. I’ve had worse meetings with the parents-” She pauses as they both realize what she said. Tobin bursts out laughing, doubling over and wrapping an arm around Christen. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It was nice having you meet the parents Christen!” Tobin laughs as a blue ford explorer drives up past them. Neither girl sees the car and unfortunately for Christen those inside the vehicle. She stands back up and tweaks her leg, holding it slightly. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Damnit.” Christen groans, bringing Tobin back into the present. The brunette frowns at her friend, rubbing her shoulder softly. Christen looks up at her. Her eyes take in the way that a patch of the sun draws rays of golden honeyed silk from Tobin’s hair. The faint blush on her cheeks. Those long eyelashes framing molten amber eyes. “Hey, Tobin...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Chris?” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Christen feels her mouth going dry as the question that lingered her tongue slips away. Ever since she saw Tobin...she wondered. About herself. About the player.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Can teammates even date?” Christen opts for the easy route, knowing she’s about to start kicking herself tomorrow for it. Everything felt heated and heavy. She didn’t know why her palms were sweating. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin tilts her head, brows furrowed. “Chris. Players are off-limits. We could get kicked off the team.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen mumbles a soft “oh” before looking down. She adjusts her jean jacket gently, hearing the bus come up to the stop. “I’ll see you at practice then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tobin waves with a grin as if she hadn’t just crushed Christen’s entire life. “See you then!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Look we don’t want to tell you what to do with your own children. But we felt like we had to tell you. Marrying into this family, we should know. It’s up to you now.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen hears a man’s voice coming from the living room as she steps inside. In the shadow of the kitchen stands Tyler against the back wall with a ball of tissue in her hands. She glares at her younger sister, mascara smudged. Christen walks further inside and comes face to face with Anthony’s family. His father walks out, giving Christen a dirty look. His wife follows silently, shaking her head with disgust. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We are so sorry. Coming from a life without scrutiny allows us to make more sinful choices, more mistakes. Almost its own form of culture and we misjudge.” Cody says as he tries to diffuse the situation. His brows are furrowed, and a look of deep sadness comes across his face. Things were so difficult. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Kids are a map of their parents.” The wife says firmly, walking out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler was quick to pounce on Christen with her mascara-lined tears. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you fucking happy Chris? You’re such a fuck up. My entire wedding has been called off because of you!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen shakes her head in confusion at Tyler. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her? A wedding called off?</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Me? Why is it my fault?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They saw you kissing a girl today at the 120 bus stop! Are you a lesbian now?” Stacy raises her voice, shaken and confused by all of this. Christen rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Christen Annemarie. Answer us. Were you kissing a girl today?” Cody gets closer to Christen, his face turning red with anger. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was at the bus stop with a girl. My friend Tobin. We weren’t kissing. She hugged me goodbye when the bus came! But even if I were kissing a girl it wouldn’t be something worth ending a wedding for.” Christen argues, crossing her arms over her chest. Cody takes a deep breath, pinching his nose.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No. No of course it wouldn’t be the worst thing but right now your sister needs this wedding to go well. She loves Tony. But they clearly don’t support homosexuality. So if you are, don’t be flaunting it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Christen gasps in disbelief. “Hiding part of myself? Really dad. You’re going through all this trouble to appease a councilman?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This wedding is something Tyler has been planning since she was young. Just until after the wedding Chris. It’s not an issue if you actually weren’t with that girl.” Stacy reminds her, getting Christen to close her mouth. Her parents make plans to call Anthony’s parents in the morning to try and rebuild the trust between them all to push forward the wedding. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This would have never happened if she didn’t keep playing soccer you know.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tyler throws another sucker punch. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I promise those updates for other stories are coming. I'm having a bit of a writer's block with Cardigan but I'm looking to upload in a week or so.  As always tumblr is cozydownpour and asks are open :) hope you enjoy this, Bend it like Beckham is one of my favorite films!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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